Disclaimer: I don’t own Death Note, and I don’t get paid cash for this.

I do get paid lovely

reviews though!

Rating: T, for language, sexiness, and some violence/gore

Beta’d by recipe for insanity, who has done a fabulous job helping me out with this!

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Light walks with all the exactness and composure of confidence, but also with the soft step
and clemency of a diagnostic practician.

His position in St. Bartholomew’s is a comfortable one—since he really doesn’t have that
much experience, and he doesn’t particularly want to kill patients. He’s the doctor patients
see when no one else can figure out what’s wrong with them. His ability to memorize medical
textbooks overnight has certainly helped.

Light sighs as he settles into his chair in his office. Technically, it’s not really his office, but
he staked it out and everyone is either too afraid or in awe of him to object.

He enjoys his work, certainly, and he never imagined how it could be fulfilling to make a
decision that saved someone’s life. But interesting cases are few and far between, and he is
starting to dread coming to work every day, just like he did back in the NPA.

He supposes that he could throw himself into his work, and lose himself in it, but that option
no longer sounds appealing now that there is a chance that he could have L. He hesitates to
make a life for himself here, because he’s hoping that soon he won’t have any reason to do
so.

Glancing at the calendar, Light is startled (and pleased) to realize that it is now the 23rd of
the month, and it has now been a week since he sent his last letter to L. Their conversation
didn’t count, since Light hadn’t given him any clues.

Settling into his desk, he starts up his laptop and starts typing. He considers hacking L’s
computer again, but doubtless L has changed the security, and it took him too long last time
to excuse doing it again.

L, he begins, firing up his cryptogram program. Maybe this time, he’ll translate it into Arabic
before running it through the program.

He pauses. L must know that he’s in London by now. Perhaps he didn’t catch the subtle hint
to the only person that could tell L where Light was—Mello. Light could give him further clues
to lead him that way.

This week, I’ve been thinking about how you said my personality changed. Of course, you
were right, and of course, there was a reason. But what I think you didn’t notice was that,
while we were handcuffed, your personality changed too.

Light pauses, unsure of how to continue. This would be a delicate subject for L, of course,
and he needs to be careful with it. But before he can continue, he hears footsteps
approaching his office, and he closes the program and pulls up his email instead.

He doesn’t turn around, even when the footsteps stop in his office door. These are his thirty
minutes of break time, in between two ten-hour shifts, and they’ll have to beg if they want
to interrupt that.
“Doctor?” a nurse asks hesitantly, and Light turns around in his chair to look her in the eye
with as much irritation he can use without being overtly rude.

“I’m on my break,” he says tersely.

“There’s a woman here—she says that you agreed to see her.”

Light opens his mouth to say something rude and sarcastic, and then closes it as he realizes
that he’s still in the personality of Light Yagami, who was writing an email to L. Instead, he
adopts the pleasanter expression of Doctor Tatsuaki Yoshida, M.D. “Did you take her name?”
he asks, and his voice is soft, his eyes shielded. The nurse visibly relaxes under his softer
gaze.

“Yes,” the nurse says, pulling a clipboard off the top of the stack of papers she’s carrying.
“Here’s her information.”

Light accepts it with only a token sigh. Breaks aren’t exactly sacred around here. The nurse
smiles apologetically, and then walks briskly away. He doesn’t bother glancing at the medical
records he’s holding, and instead walks to his assigned examination room.

The woman is already there, looking ill at ease and jittery. Light glances at her, his gaze just
barely a touch, a brush, and before he says anything, he starts up the normal procedure of
taking blood pressure, making small talk before they start in on her disease.

She relaxes gradually under Light’s easy demeanor and calm understanding of her
descriptions and complaints, and as Light listens, he realizes that he has yet to peruse her
file.

He flips open the folder, and then stops.

The sudden lack of amiable gestures or noncommittal noises on his part make the woman
stop talking or moving as well. After several tries, Light finally tears his eyes away from the
paper in front of him, and looks up at her.

“I apologize,” he says. “It was nothing in your file that startled me. Please, continue.”

Light gets rid of the woman as soon as he possibly can, telling her that her condition was in
no way life-threatening and to report back to him if her symptoms worsen.

As soon as she’s gone, he darts out of the examination room and into his office before
anyone can hound him about seeing someone else.

And in the relative quiet of the little office, Light pulls out the note that had so startled him.
There, in spiky, uneven handwriting that he had never seen and yet knew completely, it says,

Dr. Tatsuaki Yoshida,

It’s an interesting name. Did you choose it?

And nothing else.

That bastard. L would send him something like this—something so ambiguous and infuriating
that it took away any of the edge Light had held over him in the last few months.
Light is staring so intently at the little handwritten note that seems so out of place after
months of email and nearly no contact at all. It seems so . . . personal.

And how the hell did L get it in the folder?

Was he here?

Instinctively, Light’s head snaps up and he scans the area he could see through the glass
plating on his door. He doesn’t see anything suspicious . . . but then, that would be L’s point,
wouldn’t it? After months of Light teasing him and provoking him and just toying with him in
general, L has finally decided to take his revenge.

Not that Light minds. He just imagined something . . . less direct, more in the way of emails
or phone calls.

If the first note surprised Light, then the second one nearly makes him jump out of his skin.
He had not expected L to strike twice, not so soon, not so personally. This time it’s as he
reaches into the refrigerator for his lunch. Before his fingers can even brush Tupperware,
however, his hand recoils violently. For a moment, he just stares into the fridge like it holds
all the answers to any of the questions he’s ever pondered, then finally, his fingers grasp the
little slip of paper.

Dr. Tatsuaki Yoshida,

When we first met, I thought you were an arrogant little prick. Later, I came to be of the
opinion that my first impression left something to be desired. I amended my view of you to a
self-centered, borderline-narcissistic, arrogant bastard. And still later, when we met up after
all that time, I found that my impression of you was wrong again.

It was almost the first time that I have been glad I was mistaken.

Light blinks in surprise and then rereads the note to make sure he isn’t hallucinating. No, the
words are really there, in damning black ink, in L’s own handwriting. An almost-compliment.
Hell, coming from the detective, this was a declaration of deep affection.

Light reads it a third time, his lips quirking into a small smile before he slips the note into his
jacket pocket along with the other one.

And throughout the day, his collection of notes grows. He finds one stuck to his computer
when he returns from lunch—it says,

Dr. Tatsuaki Yoshida,

Ten years of solitude is a very long time, I have come to realize. Ten years with no personal
contact or conversation with anyone besides my attendant. And even that grew stale when
there were no other distractions; he hasn’t said much of anything for several months now.
You, at least, found something to amuse yourself. I have no such luxury.

Light contemplates this note. L obviously can’t come right out and say it, but the note speaks
several things to him. First, that L is lonely and tired of being so; second, that Watari was no
longer with L, probably retired, the old man had earned it; and third, that L was still at least
a little irritated in Light’s choice of relationship partners. First Misa and then Mikami. Well,
Light wasn’t really all that pleased with himself.

The next note he finds while rummaging around his supply drawer. It simply says,
Dr. Tatsuaki Yoshida,

I’m bored. When does your shift end?

And this note sends a strange thrill of excitement down Light’s spine, making him shiver a bit.
If L is asking when he’s done with work, then that means that he has something planned
afterwards. And generally, L’s plans are a lot of fun.

The next note is actually handed to him by a very confused nurse. When he asks her where
she found it, she simply gestures vaguely behind herself and then stalks off, probably to kill
an annoying patient or something along those lines.

Dr. Tatsuaki Yoshida,

You apologized in your letter, and after reading it, I have found the need to apologize as well,
as you certainly seem to be expecting an apology. Though for what, I can’t imagine. For
doing my job? For saving your neck, again?

I know what you’re expression will be right now. You’re incredulous, angry that I’m not
taking this apology seriously. Relax. I am.

Light actually chuckles when he reads this, because L was right. He had been glaring at the
letter in his hands after the first paragraph.

L would make everything difficult. And even though Light has heard his apology before, it’s
nice to see it in writing this time. It seems more permanent.

He finds another note floating around the break room. He snatches it up, but he’s certain
that some of the more observant staff have noticed that he’s been acting a bit strangely
today.

Dr. Tatsuaki Yoshida,

Do you think that I prepared all these notes beforehand and had someone else deliver them?

You really are rather unobservant.

Light’s head snaps up when he reads that and again he surveys his surroundings suspiciously.
L is either here, or he’s trying to make Light completely paranoid. Well, it’s working.

So far, Light has lasted nearly six hours at the hospital, receiving notes, constantly looking
over his shoulder and around himself, wondering if L’s going to show.

Dr. Tatsuaki Yoshida, the next note, found taped to the mirror in the restroom, says,

You mentioned the helicopter and its importance last time we spoke.

What I didn’t tell you was that I had guessed exactly what had happened—I knew something
was different, something was wrong.

And in the following weeks, my suspicions solidified. But not once did I try to stop what I
thought was the inevitable conclusion to this twisted, bizarre liaison we have. You proved me
wrong, once again.
That was only the second time I was glad that I was wrong.

Light grins at the letter. Far from being irritated that L had figured him out so easily, he was
rather pleased that L had seen fit to let him do as he pleased.

On his seventh hour, he’s attending to a patient who needs blood work and a CAT scan done,
and as he pulls out an order form, he instead pulls up another note.

Dr. Tatsuaki Yoshida,

You’re sending your patient for a CAT scan, doubtless. Might I suggest a TB test instead? His
symptoms are consistent with a rare and particularly virulent strain of tuberculosis,
regardless of how little he coughs.

It’s that note that does Light in. He orders the damn TB test and then clocks out, deaf to his
supervisor’s admonishments for leaving two hours early. He doesn’t care—this is driving him
crazy, this waiting and wondering and how the hell did L know about his patient?

Light can’t help how irritated he’s become—at first, the notes were entertaining, even
thoughtful. Now they’ve just slipped from strangely observant to downright creepy, and
Light’s afraid that if he stays any longer and finds any more eerily perceptive notes, his
paranoia’s going to take over.

He barely notices where his feet land as he walks home—Light doesn’t think he’s ever felt
such a strange combination of emotions, all twisting in his stomach and making his heart
thud.

The anxiety, stemming from years and years of paranoia and avoiding attachments like the
plague, clashes strangely with the anticipation curling in his abdomen, making his fingers
tingle, not unpleasantly. He finds himself smiling slightly every so often, caught up in his
own thoughts, before lines appear between his eyebrows as he wonders when the hell L is
going to stop playing with him.

And even after all these months of waiting and playing, there is still a small part of Light that
still fears L—or at least, fears what L is supposed to stand for. L has always been
extraordinarily dedicated to his work, and if he were doing his job right, Light would be
arrested.

Purely out of habit, Light’s feet take him to a cozy little coffee shop near his apartment
complex. He discovered the café quite by accident his second week in London, and was
impressed by their variety and quality of brews. He’s come every day since, and the
employees have come to know him by name and face.

It’s probably a dangerous thing—hell, Light knows that it’s dangerous to have such
predictable behavior, but only L knows about Kira, and if L wants to arrest him, he’s proven
that he can do so at any time.

He approaches the counter and is actually at the register before his mind gently informs him
that yes, he’s here and yes, he needs to stop staring blankly at the barista and fucking order
something now.

Light’s eyes snap to recognition and he smiles at the rather confused-looking attendant and
orders his favorite brew, too caught up in his speculations to consider trying something new.

He leans against the counter as he waits, wondering if there are going to be more notes at
his apartment—it’s absolutely possible, of course. It would be much easier for L to infiltrate a
deserted apartment than a bustling hospital. Perhaps L himself will be there . . . That would
make things much easier. Light is certain that once he actually sees L, his pressing unease
will disappear.

The barista has to call his name twice before Light snaps to attention and thanks her as he
takes his Italian espresso. He sips it once, eyeing the door, wondering if he should follow his
normal pattern and drink the coffee here, or if he ought to head home immediately. If he
waits, the tension that is currently practically giving him ulcers might combine with the
coffee and make him a nervous wreck. And then Light rolls his eyes at himself. He has never
been a nervous wreck before. He doesn’t even know what that would look like on him. Other
people get nervous. Light Yagami just plans further.

He heads to his normal table, then, and sits gracefully, still gazing out the wide windows of
the café. He likes more than just the coffee here, of course. It’s tastefully decorated, and
there is usually quiet classical or tasteful indie music playing in the background. The lighting
is soft and is something of a relief after the harsh fluorescents of the hospital. Light reclines
in his seat, eyes flicking idly from person to person as they pass the coffee shop. He begins
to relax, finally, crossing his legs and drinking the bittersweet brew more attentively.

And then all that is absolutely ruined when Light idly glances down at his receipt.

It is not a receipt.

Dr. Tatsuaki Yoshida,

I suppose you think the last ten years were difficult for you. I’m certain they were—though
now, knowing what I do about you and your personality flaws, I can’t say that there isn’t at
least a small part of me that’s glad you suffered a bit.

I suppose you think that’s cruel. I’ve had nearly three months of hell, though, trying to figure
out what on earth I was going to do with you.

And it’s not as though the past ten years have been easy on me either.

Light looks up from the note sharply, turning his head around to look for the barista that
attended to him, but she is in the back now, doubtless avoiding any awkward questions. Or
maybe L replaced her with a robot.

Oh god, that was possibly the most inane theory I’ve had yet.

But as he starts to swivel his head back to look out the window once more, Light freezes.
Because there, sitting in a little secluded booth in the back corner of the café, is L.

Of course he’s here.

The last place Light would ever expect him to show up.

Light suddenly feels inexplicably nervous—he flexes his fingers around his coffee cup and
takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself. This is L, after all. And if L were going to arrest
him, Light seriously doubts that he’d be here.

It is vaguely reminiscent of their first meeting, Light thinks as he locks eyes with L. When
they went to that little café so L could interrogate him after the tennis match.
L stares right back, his lips quirked upwards into a smug little grin. His hand is hovering over
a chessboard that he’s set up on the table, and as Light watches, he reaches over and moves
one of his white pawns forward.

Light almost gives him an answering smile, but instead forces his expression to remain
neutral. He suddenly realizes that this is not nervousness or anxiety he’s feeling—it’s much
too . . . pleasant for that. It’s exhilaration, anticipation, and he gives up entirely on keeping
his expression blank, and instead lets a possessive little smile steal over his features as he
considers his options.

He can go over to L, sit down, and start talking. This is the most appealing option.
Unfortunately, it is also probably what L wants and is expecting to happen.

He can go over to L, kiss him, and then walk away. Also appealing. Except for the walking
away part.

He can leave right now, just stand up and walk out of the shop. L will likely follow him,
though not immediately. With this option, however, L might just keep tormenting him with
smug little notes that are designed to prey on his cultivated paranoia. And that sounds like it
would just slowly drive him insane.

L is obviously giving him a chance here to stop the games, call a truce, and wait until they’ve
had sex and decided living arrangements before they start competing again.

Light never thought he’d see the day when he’d willingly call a truce with L.

Nevertheless, he stands and walks slowly over to L’s table, taking his sweet time, shuffling
his feet like he doesn’t know exactly where he’s going. His eyes never leave L’s, however,
and when he gets to the booth, he hesitates for a moment before sitting down. As he sits, he
reaches over and moves one of his own pawns. Black, of course. L was always white. And
that suits Light just fine.

L looks as pleased as Light’s ever seen him, and Light supposes that he has every reason to
be so. He’s effectively taken Light’s clever ruse of cryptic notes and turned it around on him
in a single day. It took Light nearly three months to get L to find him. And L has done the
same in about eight hours.

Light can’t hate him for it, because he’s been waiting for this reunion for far too long, really.
And now that L’s here, he doesn’t really have much to complain about. Still, he sips his
coffee, waiting for L to speak first, since he has control of the board, after all.

And after several minutes of blatant staring, L does.

“Light-kun is behaving with unprecedented paranoia,” L comments, sipping his tea, moving
another piece on the chessboard. Another pawn. “I had supposed that it would take at least
twelve hours to drive him out of the hospital.”

Light moves one of his knights before speaking. “I suppose I’ve been unusually high-strung
lately.”

“Why’s that?” L asks innocently.

Light continues the game idly as he responds. His mind isn’t really on it, however; he’s
spending most of his time watching L instead of the chessboard. “Something to do with my
possible arrest and execution, I believe.”
L is the first to capture a piece, due mostly to Light’s inattentiveness. “Light-kun’s mind isn’t
focused on our game,” he says, sounding amused as he plucks Light’s knight off the board.

“Honestly, I’m more interested in our other game,” Light says. “Why did you finally decide to
come after me?” He moves his next piece with more thought this time, however, and L
frowns slightly as he glances down at the board.

“Our brief conversation made me realize that I was still thinking of Light-kun as a suspect
and a subject, not as a person. Once I adjusted my mindset, it was most easy for me to
make the decision to find him.”

“How touching,” Light says, only a hint of sarcasm dusting his words. “What did you mean in
your last note—that you’ve had a difficult three months?” He can’t help his smirk when he
captures one of L’s bishops and holds it up for him to see.

L’s eyes narrow very slightly—an expression Light recognizes as irritation. Light’s grin only
grows in response.

“What I was saying before,” L says, his voice still a smooth monotone despite his feelings. “I
was having a difficult time reconciling the two Light’s I knew of—the suspect and the person.
I realized that I don’t have to.”

“There aren’t two of me, Ryuuzaki,” Light says, sounding amused. “I’m the same all over. I
have different personality traits, but it’s not like I have split personalities altogether.”

“No,” L agrees, trapping Light’s other knight. “But Light-kun does have many masks he
routinely wears. He is likely wearing one now.”

“So do you,” Light says, then curses softly as L captures the knight. “And so are you.”

L smiles at him then, his barbed, pointed smile that sends a shiver down Light’s spine. “And
that is why we are so suited to one another,” he says simply.

“Really?” Light asks, viciously knocking over L’s rook. “And here I was thinking all this time it
was because we had mutual interests and enough differences to argue, but not enough to
repel one another.”

“I think it is because at our core, we are competitive and driven by pride to be the best,” L
says, and Light is surprised enough by his honesty that he misses a trap and L captures his
queen.

“Fuck,” he mutters softly.

“Light-kun still has a terrible habit of swearing,” L says.

“L still has a terrible habit of pointing out the glaringly obvious,” Light responds sweetly.

“Light-kun should pay more attention to the game,” L says. “Check.”

Light glances down and easily captures L’s knight, which had been threatening his king.

“I’ve been wondering about living and professional arrangements,” Light says casually, for
once focused entirely on the board. He glances up when L says nothing. “Does your offer still
stand? Oh, and check.”
L glances irritably at the board and moves his king. “Yes, it does,” he says. “Particularly since
Watari has retired.”

“I’m not your butler, L,” Light snaps, changing his move quickly and capturing L’s queen
before he can use her to put him in checkmate.

“Nor would I want Light-kun to be,” L says calmly. “As I mentioned before, it would make
more sense for Light-kun to handle social and conversational aspects of the profession, but if
he feels it is beneath himself, I’m sure I can manage.”

Light’s suspicious expression hasn’t entirely cleared. “I suppose,” he says. “You know that
you’ll be fetching your own damn cake, don’t you?”

“We’ll see,” L says. “Checkmate.”

Light glances down at the board in surprise. He’s been put in Stamma’s mate and frowns in
irritation.

“Would Light-kun like to play again?” L asks innocently.

Light stands up. “I’m done with my coffee and I’ve got a set at home,” he says casually,
looking at L with an expression that is both challenging and stirring. “Coming?” he asks, just
as innocently.

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Light is grinning by the time they’ve finished their fourth game. Of course they’re tied—that’s
why they could never play an even number of games. And L’s relaxed as well, he can tell,
though he refrains from mention it. The awkwardness that had descended on them both
when they’d walked into Light’s apartment together has faded until it’s only a distant,
unpleasant memory. Chess is easy for them—it’s an activity they can do even when their
minds are miles and miles away from the board.

“Light-kun wants to know how I found him,” L says suddenly, as Light begins to set up the
board once more.

“Actually, yes,” Light says. “It’s not like it was hard, but you took so long. Was it just your
indecision?”

“That was most of it,” L says. “When Light-kun ran away, however, I also had a good three
weeks of sulking and explaining to everyone why Mikami was dead and why you had escaped
and generally thwarting the aims of justice entirely, and I must admit that I was rather
irritated with you for leaving me to deal with everyone.”

“I really didn’t like the idea of being executed,” Light says with a shrug.

“I don’t think I could have ever executed Light-kun,” L admits.

“A lifetime in prison didn’t sound wholly appealing either.”

“That was an option that I considered.”

“I thought that might have been it.”

“I would have eventually figured out that Light-kun was telling the truth about the last ten
years and I would have tried to secure his release,” L says irritably.

“And until then, you just expected me to sit around and do nothing, did you?” Light asks,
quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes,” L says sullenly. “I thought boredom might be a fitting punishment for Light-kun,
seeing as how it was boredom that began his killing spree in the first place.”

“You’ll just have to keep me entertained, then, won’t you?” Light asks darkly, and L blinks in
surprise. Then Light’s expression relaxes into something gentler as he leans back in his chair.
“Besides, I say we’re even. I tried to kill you, you tried to catch me; I gave up ambitions to
stay with you, you walked out on me; you acted like a complete ass when you got back, I
inadvertently got together with my boyfriend and Misa and recovered my memories; you
imprisoned me, I escaped.” Light pauses to examine the chessboard distastefully. “You took
your own sweet time finding me, I sent you notes designed to drive you crazy.”

L is smiling slightly by the time Light has finished. “Light-kun has done an excellent job of
summing up our entirely dysfunctional relationship. If he is finished, perhaps we can
continue our game?”

The game is moving quickly, and in the next five minutes, Light makes several rash, hurried
moves that make L glance up at him in surprise. “Are you trying to lose?” he asks.

Light’s expression is a far cry from that emotionally defunct creature L first encountered
several months ago. His eyes are narrowed in challenge, and his smile practically smolders
as he leans forward. “Maybe,” he says. “We’ve been playing chess for well over two hours
now.”

L’s eyes widen in mock-surprise. “Light-kun is tired of playing games with me,” he says,
sounding disappointed.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Light says, standing and walking over to L’s side of the table. “I’m quite
partial to playing with you, L.”

L doesn’t think he’s blushed since he was a small child—and perhaps not even then. But now
a slight flush creeps into his cheeks, and he looks up at Light, who is standing in a very
casual, very non-threatening stance, watching him carefully to see how he reacts.

So L stands very calmly, flicking over Light’s king as he does so, and turns and walks
towards Light’s bedroom. “Coming?” he asks, and he doesn’t miss Light’s grin.

No sooner has Light followed L into his room than the door is shut firmly and he is pressed
up against it, just as firmly, with L’s hands on his shoulders.

His acerbic remark dies on his tongue, unspoken, as he feels the heat of L’s gaze on him,
and instead he just smiles and leans back against the door, stretching invitingly. “Are you
just going to stand there and watch me?” he asks.

L doesn’t need any further invitation. He leans forward and presses Light to the door more
firmly, and places his hand behind Light’s head, delighting in the little hitch in Light’s
breathing.

Light is both darkly amused and irritated at how slowly L seems to be inclined to move, so to
hurry things along, he traces the lines of L’s throat, then eases in and presses his lips to L’s,
with light, teasing kisses, his own lips tightly closed. Even this little physical contact, almost
chaste as it is, makes his breathing and heart rate speed up.

L’s irritated at being denied access, and so he presses Light harder, and holds his head still
as he traces the lines of his lips with his tongue and trails his fingers down his side. When he
reaches his leg, he tugs on it and then hitches it up, Light following his movements
seamlessly, holding his leg hooked around L’s waist.

Light’s breathing deepens at this contact and he can’t seem to get enough air with all the
heady sensations of L’s hands, L’s tongue, L, and he opens his mouth, panting slightly; as he
parts his lips, L’s tongue slips between them and starts gently moving in and out between his
teeth, barely brushing Light’s tongue every time his tongue invades his mouth.

Light has managed to keep relatively quiet up until this point, but when L starts a steady
motion with his hips, holding him still while he presses him against the door, his tongue
slipping in and out of his mouth in rhythm with the thrusts, he moans and grips L’s shirt,
pulling him closer, wanting more of that hot rhythm, more of that tongue—god, that mouth.

And somewhere, in a distant part of his brain, Light vaguely remembers that he probably
ought to tell L about the possibility of another Death Note—he thinks that it’s probably very
important, and L will doubtless want to hear all about it.

But, as L turns them around and they fall into Light’s bed, and starts moving that fucking hot
tongue down his neck, biting none to gently as he goes, Light thinks that now is probably not
the best time. It can wait.

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A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand we’re done! Wow, I’m actually so pleased with how that turned out!
I’ve been working on this chapter pretty much nonstop for the past five days or so. It’s
undergone several rewrites, and most of the first draft didn’t make it in here. I wanted to
end it well, though, so I’m glad I took the time

I’m going to miss this story though—it’s been my baby for so long, and now I have to go
deal with Chances, which is being a pain in the ass right now. But I will finish it. It’s my last
story left unfinished now.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to review this story! You guys have been amazing
with the reviews and suggestions you’ve given to me, and I honestly would not have kept it
up if I hadn’t received such great support from everyone!

Thanks again to recipe for insanity, who put up with my panicked and rambling emails and
sent me back my edited chapters quicker than I had any right to expect!